I am me, and that is who i am, there is no more nor any less.

i was born on november 30th 1995 and my first memory was the day my father and mother called the worst of their lives.... the single highest sucicde week in all of american history. one week that killed over half a generation. one week that to this day we celabrate as a victory for democracy for freedom.... the day the lies came crashing down, the day the berlin wall fell.... i dont know the date i dont know why my mother and father weep and fear the phones ring. but ring it does again and again, each time my father answers.... no... not my father.... the soldier my father once was. the rabbit sworn to serve queen and country in silence. and soon i fear the phone too. for months i weep everytime it rings fearing my parents sorrows. i didnt know it then, but out of a full battalion four made it out of that week without putting a gun to their own heads, and the world keeps going the world tells my family who have lost so many freinds so many that they called brother, sister, lover.... that they.... their entire generation, which was raised to fight in a war that they knew would come a war for their familes and homes a war on their own soil in their backyards against their fellow americans and others who collabrated with an enemy that though they hated they had never met... that though they knew their social and command structure spoke their languge and knew their customs had never seen, didnt matter.... and this was the moment i came to relize i was alive? that this was the world i had been brought into? i would be lying if i didnt say i wished then to crawl into the warm darkness of oblivion once more and tell who ever was there to go in my stead.... it was also the day i learned my first of many mantras. you either die a hero... or live long enough to see the men who m you fought to protect and keep in power... commiting the same crimes they spoke out against and that you fought bled and killed to prevent. and you in that moment either break and give up, join the enemy and give in, or raise a new soldier doing all the things that they did and promise yourself this time... this time... it will be different, if nothing else because i wont live to see the end of it. and so began what many would call years of abuse... what i thank my father and mother for, my training. and perhaps... that is what lead me all these years later to need control. the need to fight to feel as though i am in power, for power is an addiction, another mantra, but i sup on it in my life that it never influnce beyond and i never grow fat on it and in need of giving it away, in the same note i adhere to one core belief, that those who must give up control, are those most in need of being controlled, not because they desire to follow a fool who is loud, but because in absence of someone to follow they might have no choice.